


Doom Days

by Lothiriel84



Series: These words are all we have (We'll be talking) [9]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Aromantic, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: When I watch the world burnAll I think about is you
Relationships: Arthur Shappey/Tiffy, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey & Arthur Shappey
Series: These words are all we have (We'll be talking) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546090
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Doom Days

“Snoopadoop, bad girl – down!” Carolyn’s commanding tones make themselves heard from the next room, immediately followed by Arthur interceding on Snoopadoop’s behalf.

“Mum, I don’t mind, honest. She’s not that heavy, I’m sure she can sit on my lap for a bit.”

“Arthur, light of my life,” Carolyn’s voice softens all of a sudden. “We don’t want a repeat of last week, now, do we?”

“Yes – I mean, no,” Arthur is sounding uncharacteristically guilty now. “I’m sorry, Mum.”

Taking a deep breath, Tiffy knocks discreetly on the doorframe. “Will you be staying for tea, Carolyn? Arthur and I would be delighted to have you.”

“Actually, I,” Carolyn starts, then seems to reconsider. “Excellent idea. I’ll lay the table. You stay here, Arthur, and try not to do anything your doctor wouldn’t approve of, will you?”

“Will do,” Arthur promises, even as he turns his full attention to Snoopadoop, who’s now sitting at his feet happily waggling her tail.

Ignoring the now-familiar lurch of apprehension in her stomach, Tiffy ducks into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She’s working her way through a minor existential crisis over the tin of assorted biscuits when Carolyn joins her, gently relieves her of the offending object as she patiently waits for her to speak first. When nothing comes, Carolyn sighs, and reaches over to touch her lightly on the shoulder.

“You’re allowed to be upset, you know” Carolyn says, matter-of-factly. “And speaking as Arthur’s mother, I can assure you you don’t have to hold back on his account.”

“He’s still recovering from emergency surgery. The last thing he needs is to have to worry about how _I_ feel.”

“Isn’t that what couples do – worry about each other’s wellbeing? That’s what I’m told, at least,” Carolyn sniffs, as if to preserve her own dignity.

“Is that what Arthur and I are?” is out of her mouth before she can think better of it. “I couldn’t see that hospital nurse letting me in any time soon, if you hadn’t stepped in to vouch that I was in fact his _girlfriend_.”

Carolyn regards her for a long moment, as if considering her next words. “That man was clearly an idiot, you know that as well as I do. And I’m not saying that just because he was French.”

“He had a point, though – I’m not Arthur’s next of kin, you are.”

“Not precisely,” Carolyn explains patiently. “I’m reliably informed Arthur nominated you as his next of kin when registering with his current GP. What he failed to take into account was that one day he might require an emergency landing whilst flying over Brittany, and subsequent transfer into the nearest available hospital.”

Unsure how to process this particular piece of information, Tiffy reaches over to turn the kettle off and fetch the assorted tea box that was a present from Douglas for her last birthday.

“And if it’s an official piece of paper you’re after, there’s always civil partnership to consider. Much less fuss than a conventional marriage, for a start,” such is Carolyn’s parting shot, as she grabs the tea tray and marches into the living room, leaving Tiffy to stare into space for a good couple of minutes. If Carolyn agreed to tie the knot a third time in spite of her declared aversion to the romantic connotations of marriage, surely she could at least consider the option of quietly registering as civil partners – mull it over for a while, then maybe discuss it with Arthur, should she find she’s not as opposed to the idea as she most definitely is when talking about marriage.

“Oh, there you are,” Arthur’s perpetually cheerful voice startles her out of her musings, and she’s secretly grateful for that. “Mum said I should probably come in and fetch you.”

“You should be _resting_ , Arthur,” she shakes her head, even as he gets hold of the biscuit tin.

“They took out my appendix, not my legs,” Arthur points out, and starts nibbling at a custard cream. “And my doctor said I should try and walk a little more each day, actually.”

He takes a good look at her face as he finishes his biscuit. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look a bit like you could use a hug. It’s your choice, obviously, but,” he trails off, flicking a stray crumb off the front of his shirt.

“You have an incision in your abdomen,” she forces herself to object, even though she finds he’s right, a hug is precisely what she needs right now.

“I can be careful, I promise,” he offers, still waiting for her to make up her mind. His arms are around her the moment she nods her head and takes a step closer, and she simply lets herself be held for a long moment.

“You’re not allowed to get sick ever again,” she says, stupidly, and he all but chuckles in response.

“Aye aye, ma’am,” he teases her, as kindly as he ever does. “Tea?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she agrees, feeling way better now than she did half an hour ago. He snatches the biscuit tin off the counter, offers his free hand for her to take, and they walk out of the kitchen together. 


End file.
